I’d like to think that most adults have developed past the point where they idolize athletic heroes, but I suppose there are times when living vicariously through them can be a thrill-or a bummer-for us.

Like politicians, music stars, or anyone else, we all know that athletic ability does not mean that an individual is skilled in other areas of life.

Too often, we find out that the ability to run with or catch a ball or shoot a puck does not come with an automatically equal dose of common sense or respect for The Rules.

Every now and again, someone comes along who captures our hearts not only because of their superior abilities, but due to how they handle success and the adulation that comes with it.

Of course, we can’t be with these stars all the time and there may be times when they are having a bad day and just want to do everyday stuff without being pointed out or noticed.

Back in the 1990’s a young Thurman Thomas made news when he said some very crude things to some young fans. I believe that Thurman was just having a bad day, because that is the only bad story about him I can remember, and the Thurman to whom I have spoken is a very thoughtful, kind and intelligent man.

Which brings us to Ryan Miller of the Buffalo Sabres.

It may be hard for us in Buffalo to fully comprehend his meteoric rise to national hero status because we get to see him all the time, but Ryan Miller has apparently crossed that line into the world of superstardom. He is a Super Nova on two legs.

This hockey player (gasp!) who works in Buffalo is now something of a national symbol of excellence, and his star is in the ascendant. He has become as well known as a certain Pittsburgh Penguin known as He Who Shall Not Be Named here because I am sick of hearing about him. (Hint: he won the Winter Classic against Buffalo and scored the winning goal for Canada in Vancouver.)

Why?

Granted, Ryan Miller is an excellent goaltender.

But there is something more to him, which is that boy-next-door likeability.

The Dominator Hasek was the best in the league when he played, but he seemed like the typical mercurial goaltender: cold, distant, weird. And he wasn't one of us.

Ryan Miller has that special Mid-America something which can’t be taught by coaches or imaging consultants or PR flaks: you can’t help but liking him and rooting for his success.

So far, Ryan Miller has maintained his equanimity, balance and poise in the face of the media blitz to which he has been subjected since Vancouver.

In handling the demands upon him, he seems somehow like an amalgamation of Jimmy Stewart, Will Rogers and Uncle Sam.

In the midst of his hard-earned success and the glare of the spotlight, Miller always makes some reference to the fact that hockey is a team sport.

Of course, the rest of the country has taken notice and Miller is on his way to becoming an icon if he isn't already.

I am happy for him, but at the same time am subconsciously bracing myself for the inevitable post-season spiel in a few years about how our team is small-market and couldn’t possibly compete financially to keep him; how hockey IS a team game and that the economics of the Sabres simply can’t justify the expense of keeping him; how his contract proposal got tangled in the FAX machine, etc.

So I am going to try to enjoy the present and the next few years of watching Ryan Miller strive for and possibly make it to the absolute pinnacle while he is here, because he is apparently on his way to the kind of mega-stardom we cannot afford.

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